


An Oxford Carol

by Somniare



Category: Lewis (TV)
Genre: (naturally), M/M, The Ghost of Christmas Future - Freeform, The Ghost of Christmas Past, The Ghost of Christmas Present - Freeform, With apologies to Charles Dickens, first kiss., set post-series 5
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-21
Updated: 2015-12-20
Packaged: 2018-05-08 01:47:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 11,447
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5478752
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Somniare/pseuds/Somniare
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Robbie woke with a jolt, as though he'd been falling in a dream.  The glow of the streetlights crept around the heavy curtains, creating the usual shadows, yet something was not right.  Robbie listened again for the sound that had disturbed him, for he was certain that hadn't been a dream.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Christmas Eve

**Author's Note:**

> A wee Christmas gift to the Lewis Fandom, which has brought me joy and many good friends.
> 
> With thanks to paperscribe and barcardivodka for beta and Brit-pick. Love your work, ladies.
> 
> I have tinkered with this since its return. All mistakes and flubs are mine.

**************

 

Christmas Eve had snuck up on them.  A flurry of seasonal domestics, minor assaults, theft, and drunken revels gone wrong had masked its approach.  Robbie Lewis rocked back in his chair, his head lolling from side to side.  Across the office, Sergeant James Hathaway rested his chin in one hand and stabbed half-heartedly at his keyboard with the index finger on his other hand.  Robbie and James were both rostered to work through Christmas, and New Year’s Day, the start of a three day break for both of them, seemed so far away.

“Time to call it a day, James?”  Robbie interpreted his sergeant’s grunt as a ‘yes’, and groaned softly as he pushed himself to his feet.  He was looking forward to collapsing on his couch.  The past couple of weeks had left him unsettled as the anniversary of Val's death had come and gone and Christmas loomed.  This year, he didn't have the anticipation of going to Lyn's place to break his mood, and because he and James were both working, they’d arranged to celebrate Christmas together on New Year’s Day instead.

A tiny voice regretted the decision.  Having a few drinks on the couch with James would be far more preferable than sitting around on his own on Christmas Eve.  However, Robbie knew it was for the best.  While they weren’t the only team on call this Christmas, nor were they at the top of the roster, if the night got out of hand, which wasn’t an impossibility, he and James would need to be as fresh and well rested as possible.

He watched James slip gracefully into his coat, the heavy wool draping across his hips.  “Right, lad, will I see you bright and chipper in the morning, or should I have extra coffee and some aspirin on hand?”

James looked puzzled.  “Aren’t you going to Laura's Christmas Eve supper?”

Robbie gave a small shake of his head and took in James's mildly perturbed expression.  “Are you?”

James nodded slowly.  “Laura caught me yesterday and said she expected to see both of us there for a couple of hours at least; she seemed rather confident we wouldn’t be called out.  I assumed you'd already told her you were going, so I said I'd be there.”

Robbie sighed.  “I was thinking about it, but I never gave Laura a definite answer until this morning.  She never mentioned you said you were going.  Sorry,” he added, as a flicker of disappointment crossed James’s eyes.  Robbie wanted to kick himself for not making a point of asking James before he spoke to Laura.  They could talk for hours about a case but for everything else, they seemed to rely on... what exactly?  Intuition?  A shared understanding?  Hadn't worked this time, had it?

“Come with me?”  James looked at him hopefully.

Robbie hesitated.  There had been whispers around the station of late about him and James and their relationship.  Robbie blamed himself.  He was fonder of the lad than he believed he had a right to be, and he suspected he might have let it show on more than one occasion.  He’d told Laura he wasn’t going when they’d run into each other in the break room.  If he turned up at Laura’s tonight, and James was there, there would be those who’d witnessed the exchange who would see it as proof there was more going on between governor and bagman than met the eye.  He wasn't worried about himself – retirement was always an option if the situation became awkward – but he didn’t want to risk putting James in an unwanted position.

“I'm sorry, James,” he said apologetically, “but it’s been a long week, and it’s not over yet.  I'd best be off home, otherwise I'll be driving in my sleep.”

Robbie followed James’s glance as it shot towards the window.  Heavy rain coursing down the glass distorted what little view remained in the darkening evening.  James faced Robbie once again, concern shadowing his eyes.  “In that case, would you let me drop you home and pick you up in the morning?  Your place is on the way, and there's no good reason both of us should be on the road tonight if we don't have to be.”

Robbie nodded and reached for his coat.

**********

James pulled up in front of Robbie's building.  The short drive had been quiet.  That he and James could sit in comfortable silence was something Robbie had long appreciated.  Outside, the rain continued unabated.  Robbie unfastened his seatbelt and half-turned his body towards James to say goodnight.  The street light cast through the windscreen sent flowing shadows running down James's cheek, light and dark creating mesmerising patterns across his otherwise still, calm expression.  Robbie had to stop himself reaching across to trace the lines down James's face and neck, flattening his palm against his own thigh.

“You know Laura’ll understand if you make your excuses now?  We are on call.”  It was obvious to Robbie that James was preparing himself mentally for the night ahead.

James nodded slowly.  “Yes, but I’ve made excuses for every other invitation she's offered me this year.  At least I have the pretext of needing to get ready for Mass to facilitate a reasonably early exit – provided there isn’t a call out.”

“It's Midnight Mass.  How early can you reasonably get away?”

James puffed out his cheeks.  “Around half past nine, ten o’clock, if I’m lucky.  I may have hinted to Dr Hobson that the band was playing at Mass.”

Robbie sat up sharply.  “You never said.  I’d like to hear you play again.”

“I'm not playing, though I am going to Mass.”  James stumbled over his hurried explanation.  “The band isn’t playing either.”  He hung his head.  “It’s just an excuse.  I’m relying on Dr Hobson not having time to check.”

“Oh.  Well.  In that case...”  Robbie managed to keep the disappointment from his voice, though he feared it showed on his face.  “You’ll be for it if she finds out.”  He quickly opened the car door, eager to get away before he said or did anything that might give him away.  “Goodnight, James.”

“Goodnight, sir.”

**********

Robbie gazed out of the window, whisky glass in hand.  The rain had increased shortly after James had left him and was now driving sleet.  It was just past ten, and he hoped James was safe wherever he was.  Behind him, only a small lamp lit the flat, and he studied himself mirrored in the glass.  The lines weren't as deep as they could have been, and he only had a scattering of grey in his hair.  All things considered, he was doing well.  Meeting James, becoming partners and friends, had countered the effects of grief and loss, and had given Robbie a reason to get out of bed in the morning.

Except now, Robbie's feelings had shifted in a direction he'd never anticipated.  It wasn't physical; Robbie had no desire to snog James or... oh, who was he kidding?  What he felt was most decidedly not paternal or fraternal.  His reflection blushed back at him.

Long before Robbie had met Val, he was aware he was attracted to both men and women.  Seventies Newcastle, however, was neither the time nor place to be ‘different’, so Robbie had focused his attention on women, with limited success.  By the time he left his teenage years behind him, he had reached the conclusion he would be better off remaining single.  Consequently, when his brother had introduced him to Val at a Midnight Addiction concert, Robbie had been a reluctant participant.

He’d been the one who’d been the most amazed when he had fallen in love with her within a few months, and they’d married a year later.  So deep and unwavering was Robbie’s love for Val, he’d convinced himself his attraction to men had simply been curiosity.  He’d never said a word to Val about his attraction to men.  It simply hadn’t mattered as long as she was there.  Even after she’d died, and he’d been alone, he’d always expected, if he fell in love again, that it would be with another woman.  That belief had been shattered a year ago.

James had come down with the flu in early December.  He’d argued it was simply a bad cold, until the afternoon he’d fainted at his desk.  Robbie had long admitted to himself he was fond of the lad – he was fond of a good many people – and had taken it on himself to ensure James was taking care of himself.

Robbie had expected a fight.  James was fiercely independent and private, and generally fought any encroachment on his personal life.  Robbie had armed himself with a range of arguments, which became redundant when James had welcomed Robbie in without a single word of protest.

Robbie had decided he’d check on James every day after work (Innocent had supported his plan by removing him from the rotation while James was off sick), bringing simple meals and ensuring James ate something.  They’d share the meal and then watch telly for a bit.  At least, that was Robbie’s plan.  On the first night, they’d sat down to watch an episode of Doctor Who James had recorded and James had promptly fallen asleep, with his head resting on Robbie’s shoulder.

Robbie had given him a gentle nudge.  “You’ll be better off in bed, lad.”  James had only grunted a response.  Robbie stood, lifted him unresisting off the couch, and half-carried him to bed.  He’d got James under the covers, and set up with water and paracetamol on the bedside table.  James had smiled at him gratefully, unguarded and open, giving Robbie his complete trust, and had unknowingly claimed Robbie’s heart.  It had been that simple.

The remaining evenings had become a labour of love.  Robbie had stayed on the couch the nights James was at his worst.  He checked on him hourly, using cold compresses to help bring his fever down and cradling James in his arms to hold him upright so he could drink enough to stay hydrated.  There were nights where Robbie had held James longer than was necessary, where he’d lingered by James’s bedside, and gently caressed James’s brow until he fell asleep.  Robbie had taken liberties he wouldn’t have dared had James been more aware of his surroundings, and he wore the guilt for that.  If James remembered any of it, he’d never mentioned it.  It was probably better that way.

It was utter foolishness, of course.  They were mates, he was James’s boss, and James was...  James.  Robbie decided he was more tired and weary than he’d thought, if he believed there was any real possibility James might return his affections in that way.

Robbie gave himself a small shake.  He swirled his glass, watching the golden liquid as it swept around.  “Merry Christmas, James,” he murmured, draining the whisky, his third of the night, in one long swallow, wondering if perhaps he should have eaten something that evening.

He took himself off to bed.  It was Christmas, he was missing Val, as he always did at this time, and now he was also feeling guilty for leaving James to Laura’s tender mercies.  He could bury his head in work tomorrow, and once the day was past, he knew he would gradually find his balance again, and everything would be as it should be.  It grew a little easier each year.

**********

Robbie woke with a jolt, as though he'd been falling in a dream.  The glow of the streetlights crept around the heavy curtains, creating the usual shadows, yet something was not right.  Robbie listened again for the sound that had disturbed him, for he was certain that hadn't been a dream.

_There!_   Someone cleared their throat.  Robbie held his breath.

“Oh, do get up, Lewis.  I don't have all night.”

Robbie froze.  _Morse?_   Maybe Robbie should have eaten–

“You could have had a banquet and it wouldn't have made any difference; I'd still be here.”

Robbie sat up and peered at the chair in the corner of the room.  As he watched, a figure rose and approached the bed.  There was no mistaking the limp.  It was Morse.  _I have to be dreaming_ , Robbie thought.

“I'd like you to come with me, Lewis.”

“Come with...?  I don't understand,” Robbie stammered.

“Of course you don’t, not yet.”  He reached Robbie’s bedside.  “Now, if you please.”

Morse suddenly reached for Robbie’s hand where it lay on top of the duvet.  As cold fingers grasped his wrist, Robbie squeezed his eyes shut against a brilliant burst of light.  He felt dizzy and groped blindly with his other hand, looking for anything secure to hold him steady.  His hand closed around something smooth and strangely familiar.

“It’s quite safe to open your eyes, Lewis.”  Robbie thought the edge of impatience in Morse’s voice was unfair.  He could imagine how the man would have railed if he’d been ripped from his bed in the middle of the night by a ghost.  _Ghost?_   Surely not?  It had to be a dream – a sleep-deprived, hunger-fuelled, whisky-induced dream.  And yet...  Morse’s voice cut through.

“I don’t like labels, Lewis.  They presume too much.  Accept this as it is.”

“But, sir–”

Morse looked at him with an almost fond expression.  “I’ve missed that.”  With a heavy exhale, the moment was past, and Morse took a step back.

For the first time, Robbie looked around him.  He was gripping the handrail on a landing at the top of a flight of stairs he recognised.

“But... this is...”

The sound of voices drifted up the stairs.  A woman’s laugh came sweet and clear over the top of the babble of excited children.

“Dad!”  It was a boy.  “Hurry up.  Mum’s making us wait.”

“Keep your shirt on,” Robbie murmured.  He gasped, as his words seemed to echo back at him.  The door in front of them swung open, and Robbie saw a much younger version of himself dash out of the bedroom and past them, running his fingers through his hair to sweep it off his brow.

“Are we invisible?” he whispered to Morse, who shook his head.

“These are but shadows of your past.  They can neither see nor hear you.  Come.”

Morse led the way downstairs, stopping in the doorway to the front room.  Robbie stood behind Morse's shoulder and took in the scene before them, pushing down the ache in his chest.  In front of the glittering tree sat Mark and Lyn, their hair still sleep-tousled.  Tucked beside Mark was a well-worn panda, a toy he had lost on the London train when he was seven.  Robbie's beloved Val sat in an armchair to the side, while the younger Robbie sat on the arm of the chair with his arm draped over her shoulder. 

Robbie sighed as she leant into the embrace.  “Why are we here?” he murmured.

Morse turned slightly.  “Doesn't it make you happy?  You come here often in your dreams.”

“I know.  It's just...”  Robbie took a deep breath as he watched the family before him.  He smiled sadly as the sounds of tearing of paper and excited squeals and giggles filled the room.  He shook his head slowly.  They were all happy, unaware of what was to come, of how the family would be torn and separated in the future.  They were living in the moment, without thought for the past or the future.  He wanted to tell them to cherish every minute, remember every detail.  He wanted this to be his here and now.

Morse took Robbie's elbow.  “Perhaps we should leave now.”

“Yes.”  Robbie took a step away from the door.  “No.”  He stood still and frowned at Morse.  He knew it was foolishness, but Robbie wanted to stay and live these years again.  If he could, perhaps he'd be able to stop Val going to London on that particular day and–

Morse's grip tightened.

“Lewis, it’s time to let the past be.  While you continue to hold on to it as tightly as you do, it will blind you to what you have now, and you’ll miss so much more.  Believe me, I know.  I couldn't completely let go of what I'd lost, and only found what could be when it was too late for me.  Don't make my mistake.  Rest while you can, Lewis.  You'll have another visitor soon.”

Robbie’s body grew heavy and he felt himself drift towards the floor.

**********

Robbie rolled onto his side and was disconcerted to find himself on the couch.  He struggled to sit up.  The flat was in darkness, save for the glow of the standby light on the telly.  With a grunt, Robbie pushed himself off the couch and swayed to his feet.  He’d never sleepwalked before.  It was troubling.

“You’re not sleepwalking, Robbie.”  The voice came from behind him.  Fingertips brushed across the back of his hand.

“Val?”  Afraid his mind was playing tricks on him, Robbie couldn’t turn around.

“There’s no trick, love.  It’s me.”

The light in the room rose to a dull glow and Val appeared in front of him.  She was wearing the same outfit she’d worn on that fateful December day.

Transfixed by Val’s image, Robbie was unable to move.  “Are… are you the visitor Morse told me would be coming?” he stammered out.

Val nodded, stepped towards him, and put her hands over his eyes.  Her touch pulled him forward and Robbie let himself fall.  He came to sudden stop with the sensation of warm wood beneath his hands once again.

“You can open your eyes now,” Val whispered in his ear.

His hands had come to rest on the back of a chair, and Robbie found himself staring at the back of an all too familiar blonde head in an unfamiliar place – unfamiliar to Robbie, that was.

Robbie had only been inside Blackfriars on a couple of occasions during a case.  James, on the other hand, attended evening Mass whenever work and other commitments allowed.

The service appeared to have finished, as the congregation stood and the murmur of voices began to swell.  Robbie raised a hand to touch James on the shoulder and his fingers passed through fabric, skin and bone, as though James were no more than a mirage.  Robbie stared at his and hand then Val.

“I’m sorry, Robbie,” she said sadly.  “We can’t interact.  We’re not… here.”

“But this is now?  Right now, isn’t it?”

“This is the Present,” Val replied.

With the row of seats now empty, James rose.  He shrugged into his coat, which Robbie surmised had been on James’s lap or the floor in front of him – it definitely hadn’t been over the back of the seat.  Though surrounded by families, James presented a sad, lonely figure as he walked towards the doors alone and out into the night.

Robbie tried to follow.  Val took his hand, all went dark, and Robbie’s stomach flipped.  He was beginning to feel slightly nauseated.

When he felt solid ground under his feet, he muttered, “God, Val–”

“Robert Lewis!” she scolded.

“Sorry.”  He looked at her, contrite.  While he had lost his faith, Val clearly hadn’t.  “Does the whole world have to flip when I close me eyes?”

“I don’t know,” she said quietly.  “I’ve never done this before.  I don’t know if I’ll ever get to do it again.”

“You mean–”

“I understand how this works as much as you do, love.”

“Right.  Sorry.”

Robbie looked around.  A single lamp lit the room, and it was as undecorated as Robbie’s flat, but it wasn’t his flat.  The guitar propped by the bookshelf was a dead giveaway.  A door opened and closed, and James appeared in the living area.  He’d showered and changed, and was rubbing at his hair with a thick white towel.  A pair of tracky bottoms hung low on his hips.  The t-shirt he wore was unexpected.  The faded Newcastle United logo identified it as an old one Robbie had given James to wear one night when he’d managed to drip soy sauce over himself.  He’d told James he could throw the shirt out when he’d done with it.  That had been at least six months ago.

James draped the towel around his neck and wandered into the kitchen.  He pulled a glass and a bottle of whisky from a cupboard and poured himself a large measure.  With a mix of disbelief and amusement, Robbie watched as James stood by the window and gazed out at the sleeting night, much as he had done himself.  James could have been his mirror image.

James raised his glass to the window in a toast.  “Merry Christmas, Robbie,” he whispered.

The longing in James’s voice and on his face sent Robbie reeling.  “Oh.”  He took a step towards James as the realisation came crashing in that what he felt wasn't a one-way proposition.

“Thank goodness, Robbie.”  Val’s sigh of relief stopped him in his tracks.  “I thought you were never going to acknowledge it.”

“You knew?”

“You did, too.  You just wouldn’t let yourself believe it.  I know you've always had trouble showing your feelings, or acknowledging others can feel the same way about you; if it hadn't been for your brother prodding you, goodness knows if you would have ever asked me out.  Look how well that turned out in the end.”

“We had a good life.”

“We did.  You can have it again.”

“With James?”

“Why not?  You care about him, don’t you?”

“Aye, but… he’s a bloke.”

“I know that doesn’t make one whit of difference to you.”

“You do?” Robbie said in dismay.  He didn’t know where to look or what else he should say.

Val laughed lightly, but not unkindly, at his distress.  “Robbie, love, you’ve always looked at the heart of a person, not whether they were male or female, whether they were like you or completely different.  That was one of the things I loved most about you.”

“It doesn’t bother you that…”  Robbie waved loosely in James’s direction.  He was still by the window, slowly sipping his drink.

“No.”

“Even though he’s our Lyn’s age?”

“Why should that make a difference?”

“He should be with someone his own age.”

Val sighed heavily.  “If that was what James wanted, don’t you think he would have done something about it before now?  Look at him: he’s kind, thoughtful, giving.  He feels deeply, and hides what he feels just as deeply, but he lets you see through him more than you realise.  James isn’t interested in finding someone his own age.”

“I’m his boss, Val!”

“You can change that.  You’ve been thinking of changing your career direction or retiring for years.  Next argument.”  Val folded her arms and held his gaze.

“Even if you’re right, and James wants me, what you and I had was different to what James and I could have.”

“In what way?”

Damn it, Val was right – to a point.  “Okay, maybe not that different, but it was also... physical... between us.  It'd be unfair to James.  He deserves someone who can give him what he wants, a full relationship.”

“A full relationship?  Sex, you mean?”  Val's scrutiny was intense.

Robbie felt like squirming, even though he knew all of this could only be a dream.  “It's part of the whole,” he said quietly.  “Isn't it?”

Val drew closer, her features softening, stopping just out of Robbie's reach.  “Intimacy is, but intimacy is more than sex.  You know that,” she murmured kindly.  “Even so, are you so certain you couldn’t give him what he might want?”

Robbie had never allowed himself to consider the possibility.  He had no past experience with men to call on, only what he and Val had shared.  Could it be enough?  Robbie wasn’t running from the idea, was he?  But what if it went wrong?  James had his career to take into account, his entire future.  Robbie knew he’d never be able to forgive himself if he hurt James.

“What happens if I do nothing, Val?  Can you see the future?”

“No more than you.  You’ll have to look further.”

“This is all very Dickens, love.”

“Yes, it is.”  Her expression became sombre.

“Wait.  Are you saying...?”

She nodded.  “My time is up, and I can show you no more.  You will have one more guest tonight.”

She reached out to take his hand.  Robbie braced himself for the inevitable wave of nausea.

**********

Robbie was back on his own couch.  He blinked to adjust his eyes to the change in light.

“Are you ready?”

The night had been so strange that Robbie barely reacted to the new voice behind him.  He stood up wearily and turned around.  The man standing by his dining table was taller and darker than James was, and unknown to Robbie.

“Who are you?”

“Your future.”  The stranger walked towards Robbie.  “That's all you need to know.  Are you ready?”

Robbie held out his hand and closed his eyes.

The voices registered first and then the aromas of a meal being prepared.  When his stomach settled, Robbie looked around.  This was Laura’s home.  The dining table was elegantly set for Christmas dinner.  The deep greens and reds of the table decorations offset the fine white bone china and gleaming cutlery.  An eight-foot tree stood in the corner of the living room, bearing silver and purple decorations.  Laura stood by the fireplace.  A very handsome man, whom Robbie didn’t recognise, stood beside her, with an arm wrapped solicitously around her waist.  He bent down and whispered in Laura’s ear.  She raised her left hand and brushed her fingers down his cheek.  A diamond sparkled in the light.

_Laura’s engaged?_  “How far in the future are we?” Robbie asked the stranger.

“One year.”

“He moved quickly.”  Robbie nodded at the man with Laura.

“Franco has been around for some time.”

“ _That’s_ Franco?”  While Robbie was happy to see Laura settled, he was also ashamed he didn’t know what was going on in her life.  For someone whose job relied on being observant, he missed a lot.

Robbie recognised the other guests.  On the couch sat Jean Innocent and her husband, Philip, looking very happy.  Occupying the armchairs were the new Assistant Pathologist and her husband.  Six for dinner.  A nice number.

Robbie frowned and looked back at the dining table.  It was set for seven.

“He did say he was coming, didn’t he?” Jean asked Laura.

“He promised–”  The doorbell rang.  “That’ll be him.”  Laura made for the door, opening it wide.  “Robbie, come in.  We're so glad you could make it.”

For the second time that night, Robbie saw another version of himself.  He didn’t like the look of his future.  This Robbie had aged far more than one would expect in a year.  His clothes hung off him, as though he’d lost a significant amount of weight, and his face was thin and drawn.  Robbie wasn’t sure he wanted to know what had wrought such havoc on him.

Robbie interrogated the stranger, as his stomach churned and knotted.  “If I’m here, why are there only seven places?  Isn’t James coming?  What’s happened?”

The stranger shushed Robbie and pointed to the gathering.

Future Robbie stood by the tree and Laura joined him, handing him a drink – a double by the look of it.

Present Robbie moved closer to listen to their conversation.  The stranger followed.

Laura lightly brushed Robbie’s elbow.  “How are... things?”

“Much the same.”

“Have you looked into getting a dog yet?”

“Laura–” Robbie sighed.

She moved in closer, looping her arm with his.  “You, of all people, deserve someone who's happy to see you when you walk through the door.  A dog won't ask any more of you than you're able to give–”

“Laura.”  It was a warning now.

This had to be a dream, but if it was, then Val and Morse – and whoever this other figure was – were Robbie, or at least his subconscious.  Wasn't that how dreams worked?  How you put together the bits and pieces you witnessed every day, but didn’t truly see?  He drew himself back to the continuing conversation before him.  Bless Laura.  It took a lot to put her off.

“Have you heard from James since he left?”

_James had left?_

“A Christmas card with a short letter.”  Future Robbie didn't elaborate.

“I still can't believe he up and left the way he did.  Is he happy?”

“He didn't really say, but he didn’t say he wasn’t either.”

Laura gave the ‘more information, please,’ look Robbie knew so well.  Future Robbie shook his head.  Laura exhaled slowly.  She was clearly weighing up her options.  He didn’t know Laura as well as he did James, though anyone who spent any time with Laura would have recognised that look.

Laura guided Robbie towards the table, further away from the main group.

“I’ve never told anyone, but I spoke to James the night before he left.  He asked me if I could keep it to myself, but he didn’t make me promise; I think that was deliberate.  I’m only saying something to you now because no one’s any the wiser as to why he left and I think you might know what he meant.”

“Laura, I don’t think–”

“Please, Robbie.  I really do think it’s important.  James leaving the police force without notice was a shock as it was, and no one felt it more than you did.  That he went into a monastery was almost beyond belief, and yet you’ve never spoken about it.”

Present Robbie staggered back against the stranger, who clasped his upper arms and held him upright.  _Monastery?_

Future Robbie slumped against the wall.  “There was nothing to talk about.  James made his decision.  I tried to find out what had happened, what had set him off.  All he’d tell me was that it was best for everyone if he left.”  Laura moved a step closer to future Robbie.  “Laura, please!”

“Robbie, this is important.  Don’t you want to find out why James left?  I can’t believe you’ve cut him off like this.”

“I haven’t cut him off,” Robbie snapped.  “I wanted to go down to Cornwall to see him but the Abbot said he didn’t want to see anyone.  He’s the one cutting people off.”

“Listen to me, Robbie, please.  James came down to the morgue that night for some reason, though I don’t think he really expected me to be there.  He said he only came to say goodbye, and I asked him again why he was leaving.  I was ready for him to tell me to fuck off in that politely dismissive unemotional tone he was a master of; he didn’t.  He said, ‘What I want I can't have, and I'll be better away from Oxford and the daily reminders.’  It didn’t make sense then, and it doesn’t make sense now.  What couldn’t he have?  Do you have any idea?”

Future Robbie set his jaw and stayed silent.

_Oh, God, James._   “It’s me.”  Present Robbie murmured under his breath.  He twisted out of the stranger’s hold and spun around to face him.  “James left because of me, didn’t he?  Because he wanted – wants me, and he believed he couldn’t, or that I didn’t want him.  Well?” he demanded as the stranger stood silent.

Robbie glanced back at his future self, who was struggling not to give himself away.  “Tell me I can change this.  Tell me it's not set in stone.”

The stranger laid his hand over Robbie’s eyes.

**********


	2. Christmas Day

**************

 

Robbie woke up in his own bed.  The clock on the bedside table read 5.05am.  He sat up with some effort.  His head felt fogged, which wasn’t surprising bearing in mind his disrupted sleep.  He’d felt better at five in the evening after a 2am call-out.  He forced himself to get up and went to the kitchen to make himself coffee.  He had to order his thoughts before James arrived at eight to take him to work.

Robbie sat at the dining table with his hands wrapped around a warming mug.  If the present he saw in his dream was correct, James felt as strongly for him as he did for James.  As Robbie saw it, he had two choices: he could approach James and see what happened, or he could ignore it until James gave himself away.

But this wasn’t a Dickens novel.  He couldn’t turn up at James’s door with gifts and a declaration of love.  It wasn’t only because he was James’s boss, though that was a major factor.  He had no idea if James would acknowledge or deny his feelings.

However, if he said nothing, there was no guarantee James would ever reveal himself.  James’s intense privacy meant he gave very little away willingly.  While that would allow Robbie and him to continue on as they were – Robbie was confident he could continue to hide his longing for James – if the future he’d witnessed came to pass, their mutual silence would tear them apart.

He put the kettle on to boil again, this time for a pot of tea, and took out a writing pad and pen.  The pages were yellowing along the edges.  Robbie couldn’t remember the last time he’d used it, or had a use for it.  He started to write, choosing his words carefully.  It wasn’t a solution, though Robbie saw it as very necessary if he and James were to move forward in any direction.

With that task completed, Robbie turned his thoughts to broaching the whole subject with James.  If he wanted James to open up, it would have to be in private, and somewhere James felt comfortable and not trapped.

Robbie studied his flat.  It had to be here.  _Not looking like this, though._ For the first time in years, Robbie wished he’d made the effort to decorate.  It had never seemed important before; he was either working or up at Lyn’s for Christmas. He wasn’t sure why it was important now.  It simply was.

He didn’t have a tree and it was too late to find one.  He did have some decorations.  Somewhere.  Twenty minutes of opening boxes stacked in the tiny second bedroom yielded tinsel, baubles, and a three-foot high plastic tree.  Robbie also found an assortment of plastic, paper, and wooden decorations in another box.  It would have to do.  Half an hour later, and the flat looked cheerier.

With an hour before James was due, Robbie quickly showered and dressed.  He would have had something to eat, if he’d thought his stomach wouldn’t betray him, but he poured himself another cup of tea from the pot instead.  It was lukewarm, strong enough to stand a spoon up in, and perfect for thinking.

He couldn’t very well drag James into the flat this morning and attempt to raise the issue.  He had at least one job to complete before he said anything, and they had to get through the day at work.  When, though?  Waiting until New Year, when they could both get some time away from each other if everything went to shit, would be sensible.  Robbie was too impatient to wait until then.  Dinner.  He’d ask James to come to dinner.  Tonight.  If Robbie lost his nerve, they could at least celebrate Christmas together, and he could come up with another plan.  Given their plans, James might suspect a hidden agenda.  It was a risk Robbie would have to take.

_What the bloody hell would they eat?_   It wasn’t as though he’d be able to pick up a turkey and all the trimmings during his lunch break.  He’d be lucky to find a cooked chicken of any description.  This could have been so much easier if James had gone for promotion.  He was supposed to be on the fast track, for goodness’ sake.  If they were equals, it wouldn’t matter if Robbie were to take a gamble and make the first move.  As it was, though…  

Food. _Focus, Lewis._   Because they’d planned a belated Christmas, Robbie had planned his shopping around that.  However, the fridge and pantry weren't as desperate as they could have been.  Lyn's Christmas gift had been a hamper of Christmas goodies, which had arrived a few days earlier.  He had Christmas Crackers, nibbles, a plum pudding he could heat in the microwave, and there was even a tinned ham.  There were beans, carrots and Brussel sprouts in the freezer, and he’d make mashed potatoes.  They could have the ham cold, or he could fry up thick slices of it, reminiscent of the gammon it possibly once was.  It wouldn’t be a traditional dinner by any stretch of the imagination, but not bad for being spur of the moment.

Satisfied he had done all he could, Robbie rinsed out the teapot and his cup and readied himself for James’s imminent arrival.

He was shivering on the footpath outside his building as James’s car came into view.  Patting his pocket to reassure himself the item he needed was there, Robbie stepped to the kerb and waved James down.  He had the car door open before James came to a complete stop, and quickly got inside.

“Good morning and Merry Christmas, James!”  Robbie stuck out his hand.

James shook the proffered appendage.  “Merry Christmas, sir,” he responded somewhat less enthusiastically.  He looked pointedly at Lewis and then back to the building.  “Am I not to be allowed inside today?”

Robbie fastened his seatbelt.  “I’ve just finished decorating.  Didn’t want you to see it yet.”

“Yet?”  James frowned.

Panic flickered in Robbie’s chest.  He’d never considered James might have other plans.  He’d taken his dream to be his subconscious putting the pieces together, but what if he’d been horribly wrong, and his dream was simply wish fulfilment?  “That is, if you’re not doing anything else, I was wondering if you’d come over and share a bit of Christmas dinner.  I know we said New Year, but… well… It’s nothing fancy; spur of the moment thing, really.”

“I’d like that.”  James looked away shyly as he pulled the car into traffic.  They drove to work in an easy silence.  James stopped at a small bakery on the way for coffee and croissants, which Robbie graciously accepted even though his stomach was still churning.  He made a show of drinking as they continued on.  At the station, James parked next to Robbie’s ice-encrusted car.

“If you’re lucky, there’ll be enough sun to clear that off before you have to leave tonight,” James observed, as they headed for the station doors.

“Or I could just get you to give me a lift home again.”

“There is always that option, sir.”

Robbie parted from James at the office door.

“Be back in a minute.  Have to drop something on Innocent’s desk.”

“Now?  She’s not due back until New Year’s Day; it’ll get lost underneath everything else that comes in this week.”

“I know that.  I just want to make sure this is in her in-tray when she gets back.  It won’t hurt if she doesn’t see it first thing.”

**********

They were working on cold cases.  That is, James was flicking through evidence reports and witness statements and muttering oaths to himself.  Phrases such as, “it’s not possessive, you berk,” “use a bloody comma occasionally,” and “doesn’t anyone use spellcheck anymore,” fluttered across the office at frequent intervals.

Robbie, on the other hand, was in a slow simmering panic working out the best way to broach the subject of their relationship over dinner.  If he was right, James wouldn’t reject him, but Robbie couldn’t make the first move.  He had to know it was what James truly wanted, and that James wasn’t simply going to be reacting to Robbie as his senior officer.  Robbie didn’t want James to leave.

Unexpectedly, the silence in the office grew uncomfortable to Robbie.

“You never said how Laura’s party went.”  It was the first thing Robbie thought of.

James’s looked up slowly, his eyes clearly asking, _where did that come from?_

“It was… a party.  Noise, drinks, loud extroverts.”

Robbie cringed.  That was James’s idea of a personal circle of hell.  “You got away all right, though, didn’t you?”

James grimaced.  “Dr Hobson found out I’d lied about the band.”

“Did she try to make you stay later?”  Robbie would have words with Laura if she had.

“No.  She told me I didn’t have to stay at all.  She was a bit surprised I hadn’t convinced you to come along.”

“You told her you tried?”

James nodded and got to his feet.  He scooped his mug off the desk.  “Another cuppa?”

_End of subject._   Robbie held out his cup.

The sudden appearance of Innocent in the doorway thwarted James’s exit from the office.  She was wearing jeans, a headache-inducing Christmas jumper, and boots, and was holding an envelope and a piece of paper.  Robbie’s stomach turned to ice.

“Ma’am?  Aren’t you on leave?” James asked, startled.

“I left my reading glasses behind yesterday, and I’m thinking it’s a damn good thing I had to come in for them.”  She held up the paper.  “Inspector Lewis, what is this?”

“You’re not supposed to see that until the New Year.”

“I gathered that, seeing that you’ve dated it December 31st.”  She wheeled to face James.  “Were you aware of this, Sergeant Hathaway?”

James was a deer caught in the headlights.

Robbie jumped to his feet.  “James doesn’t know anything about it.”

“A word, Inspector.  In my office.”

“Ma’am–”

“Now, Inspector.  If I don’t get my turkey in the oven in the next half hour, there will be hell to pay.”

Robbie followed her out the door.  “Ma’am, please?  Can you give me a minute to explain?”

She turned with a face like fury.  “One.  Minute.”

“I left the letter today so I wouldn’t forget.  I haven’t said anything to James because I was planning to do so between now and New Year.  I only wrote the damn thing at five this morning.”

“This is a spur of the moment decision?”

“Yes and no.”

“What are you not telling me, Lewis?”

“I’m not telling you what I don’t have the answers to yet myself.”

She studied the letter.  “This isn’t set in stone?”

“Maybe not.  I really don’t know.  I knew if it was on your desk, I didn’t have to think about getting it to you, and I could have always taken it back by New Year’s Eve if it turned out to be unnecessary.”

Innocent huffed a sigh.  “Go and talk to James.  For now, I’m going to try and pretend I haven’t seen it.  It’ll spoil my Christmas otherwise.”

“Can I ask why you opened it, ma’am, given you’re technically on holiday?”

“I recognised your handwriting, and handwritten items are rare in this nick.  I was curious.”  She held out the letter.  “Hold on to this.  I don’t want to see it again unless it’s going to come to pass.  Is that clear?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Innocent walked off without wishing him a Merry Christmas.  Not surprising, really, since he’d thrown a resignation letter into her inbox on Christmas morning.

Robbie refolded the letter and tucked it back into the envelope, before stuffing it into his trouser pocket.  He wandered back to the office.  James wasn’t there.  James would have had to walk close to where Robbie and Innocent had spoken, and Robbie worried about how much James may or may not have overheard, and how he'd put the pieces together.  James could make some brilliant leaps of logic; he could also make the worst assumptions where he or Robbie was concerned.

Robbie was ready to head off in search of James, when he returned with two steaming mugs.  James placed one mug on Robbie’s desk mat and then leant against the filing cabinet, his own mug nestled between his palms.

“What don’t I know anything about?” he asked quietly.

Robbie dragged a visitor’s chair from its place between two low bookshelves so it sat beside his desk.

“Could you shut the door and sit down, please?”  Robbie waited while James settled himself.  “I was going to save a lot of this until after dinner tonight, or maybe even tomorrow.”

“You’re resigning and you weren’t going to tell me until it was a _fait accompli_.”  The words were heavy with disappointment and loss.  Robbie would have felt a little less remorseful if it had been an accusation.

“It’s not quite like that, James.”

“Resign, retire; it's the same thing.”  James's mug hit the desk with a bang.  “You're leaving.  Was Christmas dinner going to be an attempt to soften the blow?”

“James, please hear me out.”

For several long seconds, James sat tensed, with a tight grip on the chair's armrests.  “Go on,” he eventually murmured, though he didn't relax.

Robbie's plan had been to talk about Dickens over dinner, getting around to _A Christmas Carol_.  He could have sounded James out on the idea of a dream bringing an epiphany.  He didn't have time for that now.  “Do you believe that dreams can be our subconscious working things out, putting a puzzle together, so to speak?”

“Sometimes.  It can also be fever, too much alcohol, other drugs, or guilt.”  The last word _was_ an accusation.  It made Robbie reckless.

“Maybe it was guilt.”  He grabbed and held James's wrists against the armrests when James made to stand up.  It forced Robbie to lean forward so his face was a foot from James's face.  “Guilt that I hadn't been able to see what was right in front of me, even when I knew how I felt.  Guilt that I haven't done anything about it.  Guilt for being afraid.  But I'm your boss, James, and that's tied my hands.  If I leave, they're free, and then...  Well, it's still up to you what you want to do.”

Robbie sank back into his chair, releasing James.  He wanted to take back every word and start again.

James gazed wide-eyed and silent.  He rose, slowly, looming over Robbie, and pushed the chair backwards with his legs as he did so.  He turned without a word and headed back to his desk, opening the office door as he passed by.  Robbie expected him to walk out at that point and was thankful when James stepped behind his desk.  However, Robbie’s relief was short lived as James gathered up the files he’d been working on.

“I need to review the evidence on this case,” he said quietly.  I'll be downstairs.”  James left without looking at Robbie again.

Robbie cupped his mouth and nose in his hands and leant heavily on the desk.  Robbie knew James had correctly interpreted Robbie’s confession; James’s silence and subsequent escape were proof of that.  Robbie had rushed and he’d screwed it up.  _That’s that, then._   He’d bared his soul, and for nothing.  Running after James in this instance would be akin to cornering a wounded, frightened cat, and would do more harm than good.  Robbie’s options were limited.

He drew the crumpled resignation letter out of his pocket and flattened it out.  He couldn't stay now; it wouldn’t be fair on James, but he couldn’t give the letter back to Innocent in its current state.  Robbie saved the report he was working on, opened a new blank document, and began to type.

**********

James appeared briefly at 1pm, collected his coat, and disappeared, again without a word.  Two letters sat in Robbie’s out tray.  One was his re-written notice.  The other was recommending James for consideration for promotion.  Whether or not James took up the opportunity was another matter, but Robbie wanted to ensure the path was open and that James knew he had Robbie’s full support, despite the unfortunate ending to their partnership.  Robbie was yet to work out how he and James would get through the remainder of the week.

Robbie assumed James had gone for lunch; he had no appetite himself.  He went to the break room to make yet another cup of tea.  If Innocent could see what her unexpected visit to the station had caused…  Robbie sighed.  She’d tell him to ‘fix it,’ and Robbie didn’t think there was any way to repair this, certainly not in the short term, and not while he and James were working under the same roof.

The break room had a stunning view of the station car park and skip bin storage area.  Robbie was surprised to see James out there, leaning against the industrial recycling bin, smoking.  It was bitterly cold outside, and from the look of the sky, it was going to rain or sleet very soon.  James raised his head and looked directly at Robbie, as though sensing his gaze.  Robbie was the first to look away.

**********

James didn’t return to the office again until four.  He was carrying the case files and his coat.  He returned the files to their boxes and then stood awkwardly by his desk.

“Would it be all right if I left early, sir?”

“On you go.”  Robbie was going to stay until someone came along and kicked him out.  There was no reason for him to keep James back.

James shrugged into his coat but didn’t leave.  “Sir?”  Robbie glanced up at the note of expectancy in James’s voice.  “I'd still like to come to dinner.  If the invitation’s still open?”

It was unexpected, and gave Robbie a glimmer of hope that all wasn’t lost.  “It is.  Any time after six, yeah?  You don't need to bring anything.”

With a single nod, James left.

**********

Robbie arrived home at half past five, flustered.  Alone in the office, he’d analysed and picked apart James’s request until he’d convinced himself James was only coming over to tell him he was going to resign.  The expectant butterflies that had taken wing when James asked about dinner had soon morphed into flying monkeys, leaving an unpleasant fluttering in his chest.  By the time he’d shut down his computer and left the office, shortly before five, he’d started to calm down.

James was many things, but cruel wasn’t one of them.  There’d been no anger or rancour in James’s voice or face.  His body language had been relaxed, Robbie had realised.  It didn’t mean James wouldn’t resign at some point if Robbie had grasped the wrong end of the stick and James now decided he couldn’t work with him any longer.  It did mean (Robbie hoped fervently) that they would be making some effort to talk it through.  _Christ.  Talking._   That was how he’d ended up in this state, by opening his mouth without fully engaging his brain.

As he’d fastened his seatbelt, he’d mentally reviewed the meal he was proposing to serve James.  What had seemed quite promising ten hours ago now appeared pathetic.  He’d stopped at the few open shops between the station and home in an attempt to find a cooked chicken – he would have settled for one he could put in the oven as soon as he got home – and it had been a waste of time.  Now he had half an hour to get himself and the meagre meal sorted.  On top of that, it was only when he’d parked the car that he remembered he didn’t have anything non-alcoholic to drink in the house other that water, milk, tea, and coffee.

“Potatoes,” he muttered, digging in the cupboard under the sink for the bag he knew was there.  If he got those peeled, diced, and on to boil, he could have a quick shower and...

“Oh, for fuck’s sake.”  He bounced the bag of baby potatoes in his hand.  He must have picked up the wrong ones and not taken any notice at the time.  It’d take him at least fifteen minutes to peel enough for him and James.  He didn’t have the time.  Like a memory, Val’s voice touched him.  “Oh,” he whispered.  “Bloody hell, you can be daft at times, Lewis.”  He didn’t have to peel them.  He could boil them whole.  “Thanks, love,” he murmured.

Quickly ticking off one task after the other, Robbie had everything in the kitchen as ready as it could be, and by five to six was showered and dressed, awaiting James’s arrival.  The pot of potatoes simmered steadily on the hot plate, gently rumbling.  Robbie wore the newest pair of jeans he owned and a long-sleeved charcoal grey flannel shirt Lyn had given him for his last birthday.  He remembered James had commented favourably on it when Robbie had worn it to one of Laura’s concerts a couple of months back.

The knock on the door came exactly at six.  Though they weren’t sweaty, Robbie reflexively wiped his hands on his jeans.  He took a deep breath, told himself he wasn’t a bloody nervous teenager anymore, and opened the door.

James was dressed entirely in shades of black and grey.  He had an insulated Tesco’s bag in one hand and a suspiciously bottle-shaped gift bag in the other, which he held out to Robbie.  James’s hair was damp and flecked with white.

Robbie took the bottle from James, stepped back, and waved him in.

They spoke at the same time.

“I know you said not to bring–”

“Is it snowing?”

James ran his hand through his hair.  “It’s trying to.”

“Give me that–”  Robbie pointed to the bag in James’s hand.  “You get your coat off and warm up.”

“It’s fine.”  James held onto the bag and headed for the kitchen, surveying the flat on the way.  “I like your decorations.  They’re welcoming.”  James’s words were kind, without a trace of sarcasm.  Robbie glanced at the corner where he’d set up the tree.  Rather than attempting to decorate the whole living area, he’d concentrated on the wee tree and the small side table he’d stood it on.

“Thanks.”  There wasn’t much else to say, really.  Robbie puffed out his cheeks when James had his back to him.  They sounded so normal, yet there was an invisible barrier between them.  James put the bag on the worktop and started to shrug out of his coat.  He spoke without turning around.

“I know you said not to bring anything, but I can’t go to someone’s home for a meal empty-handed.  It doesn’t feel right.”  James negotiated the short distance between the kitchen and the coat stand in the hallway without looking at Robbie.  “The wine’s from me.  My neighbour handed me the bag when I arrived home.  It’s a homemade steak pie.”

“Your neighbour made you a steak pie?”

Now James looked at him, rolled his eyes, and sighed.  “I think she thinks I need feeding up.  It’s not the first time.”

Robbie chuckled, despite the rolling of his stomach, and James hurried past him back to the kitchen.

“It needs to go in the oven,” James explained.

Robbie was facing James’s back again as James set to work in Robbie’s kitchen.  He hesitated at the end of the worktop, debating whether or not to fetch two glasses and the corkscrew now, or wait until James was finished.

James had crouched in front of the oven.  His shirttails had pulled themselves loose at the back as he’d done so, revealing small patches of James’s back, pale against the dark fabrics.

“I’m sorry I ran out on you this morning,” James began quietly.  Robbie could now see his face, reflected in the glass of the oven door.  He was using it as a mirror to look at Robbie.  “I needed time to think.”

“James.”  Robbie took a step forward.  “I’m sorry I dumped that whole business on your head without any kind of warning.  It just…came out.”

James held up a hand, stopping Robbie in his tracks.  The churning in Robbie’s stomach ratcheted up a notch as James took hold of the worktop with one hand and drew himself up to his full height.  James squared his shoulders and turned to face Robbie.  He was pale and breathing shallowly.  There was a slight sheen of perspiration on his brow, which Robbie doubted was from the oven.

James’s mouth opened and closed twice before he spoke again.  “I spent the morning turning your words over and over, hearing them in different tones, looking for anything that said I’d misheard you.”  He ducked his head.  “Making sure that I hadn’t put my own spin on what you said so that it lined up with what I barely dared hope for.”

Robbie clutched at the worktop at his back as the room rushed in towards him with James at its core.  _Barely dared hope for._ Robbie had been right.  Still, it didn’t mean he hadn’t ballsed everything up regardless.

James swallowed and continued.  “Then I spent the bloody afternoon trying to figure out when I’d given myself away and put you in this predicament.  I’d promised myself I’d be careful, that I wouldn’t do anything to jeopardise our friendship.  Yet somehow, I obviously had.”

Robbie found his voice.  “You didn’t, not in any significant way anyone could point to, not even me.  It was bits and pieces, pieces I only put together last night.”

James’s head snapped up and tipped to one side.  “But I must have said or done something to trigger it.”

Robbie shook his head.  It would be just like James to blame himself for Robbie’s own foolish heart.  Robbie considered telling James about the dreams, except in the cold light of day, they sounded foolish, the whisky-induced dreams of a sad and lonely man.  Instead, he explained, “I was feeling guilty for not going to Laura’s with you because I was worried what people might say if I turned up because you were there.”

James paled.  “You’ve heard the gossip?”

“It’s hardly gossip, but I’ve heard a few mutterings and wasn’t about to add any fuel to the fire.  Anyway, it started me thinking, that, and missing Val.  I knew what I felt, and everything else started dropping into place.”

James took step closer.  “What do you feel?”  Robbie blinked at him.  No matter how he answered that, someone might later perceive it as influencing James, were Robbie forced to answer for his actions.  James persisted.  “You said ‘I knew what I felt.’  What do you feel?”

“James…”  This was what Robbie had wanted to avoid, being the one to make the statement, to, in essence, make the first move.  “I’m your boss, man.  I shouldn’t…”

Later, Robbie would surmise his longing had been self-evident.  James closed the gap between himself and Robbie, gently cupped Robbie’s cheek, and kissed him.  It was tentative, a question rather than a statement.  Robbie stayed perfectly still as James pulled away a few inches and searched his face.  A joyful smile flickered across James’s face, and he kissed Robbie again.  This was more determined, far more certain, and completely unambiguous.  James’s hand now cradled the back of Robbie’s head, with his fingers carded through Robbie’s hair.  Robbie tightened his grip on the worktop and returned the kiss with equal fervour, though he was more than happy to leave James in control.

When James pulled him towards the couch, Robbie offered no resistance.

He gave a vague thought to the boiling potatoes and the pie in the oven, and promptly forgot about them again as James’s tongue sought entry to his mouth.  It was exhilarating.  James’s actions grew bolder as his confidence grew.  Robbie wriggled and shivered as James tugged his shirt free and James’s fingers trailed along Robbie’s bare skin.  Warm hands caressed his back.  James’s mouth explored his lips and drifted along the line of his jaw.  Robbie was beyond delighted to find it wasn’t so different to being with Val.  In some ways ( _sorry, love_ , he whispered in his head), it was better, as James seemed to know instinctively what would give Robbie the greatest pleasure without overwhelming him.

Robbie moaned softly in pleasure and frustration as James found the sensitive spot on his neck just below Robbie’s ear, and then drew back, resting his head on Robbie’s shoulder.  Robbie’s heart was drumming in his chest.  James wrapped himself around Robbie, with one arm across Robbie’s body, snaking under his shirt, and one leg hooked over his thighs.  Where James’s body pressed against his arm, Robbie could feel a second rapid rhythm.

“I had no idea you were bisexual.”  James’s lips brushed against Robbie’s neck.

“I don’t know that I am.  I’m not sure what I am.”  That Robbie wasn’t looking at James made it easier for him to speak directly.

“Is this the first time you’ve…?”

“It’s not the first time I’ve fancied a bloke.  It is the first time anything’s ever happened.”

“So you are bisexual?”

“I don’t know.  Val said…”  It was only in his dream that had Val told him she saw the truth within him.  Was that Val or Robbie’s own subconscious?  In the end, did it matter?

James nuzzled his neck.  “What did Mrs Lewis say?”

“It’s Val, pet.”  James hummed a small, pleased giggle at the endearment.  “She said it’s what’s in here–”  Robbie pressed a hand to James’s chest and then lightly brushed the side of his head.  “–and up here, that matters most to me, not what it says on someone’s birth certificate.  And she was right.  If that makes me bisexual, then so be it.”

James was silent for a long moment.  “How long have you felt this way?” he whispered.

“A year.  Probably longer, but it’s been a year since… since I knew I didn’t want to look for anyone else.”  James pulled away, wide-eyed with curiosity this time.  He kept his thigh over Robbie’s, unwilling to break all contact.  “It was when you had that flu.  Usually when you’re sick, you’re the proverbial bear with a sore head.  You won’t let anyone try to help you, and every wall goes up, but you let me in.  You did more than that.  You trusted me completely.”  James smiled fondly, and guilt pierced Robbie’s conscience again.  “And I betrayed that trust,” he whispered.

A puzzled frown marked James’s face.  “You looked after me.  That’s not a betrayal.”

“I took advantage of you, James.  I’m not proud of it, and when you didn’t remember, I was thankful.  I’m sorry.”

James looked at him in wonder.  He smiled and bit his lip.  “I do remember.  All of it.  You sat in bed with me.  You held me.  You stroked my forehead until I started to drift off.  You even slept on the medieval implement of torture I call my couch.”

“I never asked your permission to do any of it.”

James frowned.  “That’s not how I remember it.”

“You were running a fever.”

“I wasn’t unaware of what was going on.  We did have some conversations.  You always told me what you were going to do before you did it.  You never once touched me without saying so – except that one time when I tripped over my own feet and you stopped me hitting the floor.”

“Maybe I did, but you weren’t in a pos–”

“I was perfectly capable of saying no.”  James’s voice had dropped to a shy whisper.  “If anyone was deceived that week, it was you.  I could have stopped you.  Maybe I should have, but I thought, if I didn’t, it might be enough to find out if there was any chance you felt the same way about me as I did about you.  When it was business as usual after I returned to work, I thought I’d completely misinterpreted and it had been a fatherly gesture.  I almost convinced myself I must have dreamt it all.”

Robbie quelled a shiver.  _Nothing fatherly about it all, bonny lad.  Not in the slightest._ “Still, I was, am your boss, and I should have known better.  If you leave now, I’ll understand.”

James took his hand.  “I’m not going anywhere.”  With a quickness that belied his relaxed state, James straddled Robbie’s lap and held Robbie’s face between his palms.

Robbie’s breath caught.  There it was again in James’s face: complete faith and trust.  “You understand why I couldn’t say anything, don’t you?  I just didn’t know – I thought I was being an old fool – and you keep everything so close.”

James kissed him slowly.  “Rules, regulations, and expectations,” he whispered against Robbie’s lips, his breath mingling with Robbie’s.  “Which is why you believe you have to hand in your resignation.”

“I’m still going to leave.”

“I don’t want you to.”  James sat back in Robbie’s lap.  His hands glided down Robbie’s cheek and neck and came to rest, palms flattened, against his chest.  “You'd be bored stiff within a week.  Then you'd be grumpy and that would be unbearable all round.”

“I think Innocent suspects something’s up, so keeping quiet’s going to be difficult.  And I don’t like the idea of sneaking about behind people’s backs.  If I’m gone, we won’t have to.”

“We can work something out.  I could transfer.  Maybe even consider going for that promotion everyone else is so keen for me to pursue.”

“Would you be happy?”

James curled forward, resting his head against Robbie’s brow.  “If it means I get to do this with impunity, yes.”

“And this is what you want: me?”

“Yes.”

“What if I can’t keep up with you?”  Given the age gap, Robbie was genuinely concerned.

James slipped his arms around Robbie’s waist, pushing under Robbie’s shirt to stroke bare skin.  Robbie shuddered, and felt James’s gentle laughter.  “I won’t let that happen,” James said.  “I promise.”

“Is that so?”

“Yes.”

“Man of few words, aren’t you?”

“When I choose to be.”  James rocked gently from side to side.  The effect was instant and electric.  Robbie grasped James’s hips to still him.  “Oh, you don’t like that?”  James laid his hands over Robbie’s fingers.

“Quite the opposite, lad.”

James’s quick, assured grin was full of potential mischief.  “I see.  I shall store that away for future reference.”

“Cheeky sod.”  Robbie held James firm.

“ _Your_ cheeky sod.”  James dipped his head and then abruptly sat up, sniffing the air.  “Something’s burning.”

Robbie’s lap and arms were suddenly empty as James clambered off him and hurried to the kitchen.  The cooker hood whooshed as the fan was switched on.  Robbie recovered enough to look behind him in time to see James taking the pie from the oven.  Thin wisps of smoke drifted up from the pie’s blackened edges.  James had also moved the potato pot to a back burner and extinguished the gas flame.

“I guess this means dinner’s ready.”  James twisted the oven dial to the off position and turned around.  “Hungry?”

“Not for food,” Robbie answered honestly, as his eyes travelled the length of James’s wonderfully rumpled form.  James’s shirt hung loose and untucked, his hair was ruffled, and his face and neck bore signs of stubble rash.  Even from across the room, Robbie clearly saw James’s swollen, kiss-bruised lips.  Robbie’s body tingled all over, except for where it throbbed, and he beckoned James back to him.

James, in turn, studied him intently before moving to stand at the end of the couch.  He held out a hand.  “I’d like to take you to bed.”

Robbie hesitated.  He wanted James to take control, but at the same time, he didn't want them to rush in headlong.  James held his gaze, his expression calm and patient, the extended hand unwavering.

The penny dropped for Robbie with a jarring clatter.  This was about trust, as James had trusted him the year before.  Robbie stood on legs that were trembling.  Anticipation and desire were as physically debilitating as fear and dread.  Robbie knew he had nothing to fear here.  This was his cheeky sod, his James. 

He took hold of James's outstretched hand.  James pulled him into a tight embrace.  James’s lean, firm body was a contrast to Robbie’s memories of Val’s gentle, soft curves.  Robbie pressed his face against James’s shoulder and inhaled deeply.  He heard a distant giggle and sigh, and smelled the hint of a fragrance he knew well.  _Mystique Noir.  Val?_ The sounds and smell vanished as quickly as they’d arrived, too quickly for Robbie to say if they had been real or imagined.  But he understood their meaning.  Val had given her blessing.

“To bed?” James asked softly, one hand lightly stroking the back of Robbie’s neck.

Robbie nodded, and let James guide him to whatever their future would bring.  No doubt, life was going to become gloriously complicated for a time, and Robbie wouldn’t have it any other way.

**Author's Note:**

>  **Author Note:** I began this story in November 2013 and it stalled due to family events. I came back to it late in 2014, with the intention of posting for Christmas. Again, life got in the way. In February 2105, I shared a small part of Chapter 1 as parts of a WIP meme (Which three WIPs would I most like to complete in 2015?). Well, one out of three is a beginning, and I have revisited the other two. Perhaps 2016 will be their year.


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